Lilac Cup: My Personal Awards

Following the Lilac Cup, I will also be participating in the personal awards. I would like to introduce the ones I particularly liked and, if I may be so bold, share my thoughts on them.

Haiku

Three poems in the order of the list.(5-7-5! Brilliant!)

82. Pretending to be in love while wearing a floral dress

I love cherry blossoms, fashion, and of course, my friends. But I just can't bring myself to want a romance, so I'm not good at talking about love... Yet my instincts scream—it's dangerous not to play along. The struggle of living in a society of women. I interpreted it this way, but since I am a man, please let me know if I am off the mark. In any case, isn't the breadth of interpretation the charm of this poem?

85. The mountains are laughing, the elementary school commute

Some people might think, "So what?"I also thought, "So what?"
But it is a poem that stands up to appreciation more than I imagined. First, a rural landscape spreads out where mountains exist and people live. Since the mountains are "laughing," there must be children with brand-new school bags or those who have moved up a grade and are feeling restless on their commute. There are also people watching over them with a smile. If it's an "elementary school" commute, there must be a middle school one too. Perhaps it's in the opposite direction. In seventeen syllables, one can instantly imagine the rich, simple landscape of a mountain village. Isn't this a poem that reaffirms the power of seasonal words?

134. I want a finished Gunpla, spring

When spring comes, there are brand-new plastic models handed to us. They are called human relationships. There is no instruction manual for that plastic model, and the clumsy, shy subject ends up wishing for a finished product. On the other hand, they are a person who cares about their friends and will cherish the completed plastic model. I thought that, but it turns out it only meant the literal meaning, and the boy just wanted a Gunpla. My face turned bright red from embarrassment.

Tanka

There are five poems that are hard to choose between. They are in the order of the list.

66. When I kissed you looking up at the night cherry blossoms, you laughed and said, "Surprise attacks are a point deduction"

I told you over and over that you should stop writing love poems because they make your IQ drop to 3, yet everyone keeps writing about love and romance—you're all too giddy! (Talk about a boomerang). I hate love poems written by idiots, but the girl in this poem hit the spot, so I lose. This girl, she's short and wearing shoes with thick soles, right? Her hair is short, isn't it? She was looking at the night cherry blossoms with her mouth slightly open, right? The lighting was exquisite, and you were swayed by the gloss of her lips and the moisture in her eyes, right? This is a date with your imaginary girlfriend, isn't it? I get it, I get it! (To those of you who thought, "Aren't you the one who's most giddy?"—"A smart kid knows what's what.")

118. Can you believe it? It's not a Matryoshka, even if I open it, it's just more failure

The combination of the Matryoshka is strange. The rhythm is excellent, and the emotions are conveyed directly. In the personal awards for the previous Polar Bear Cup, I featured a senryu about the Common Test by the same person for a similar reason (lol). The person who wrote this says they will be a ronin student, but there are sometimes people with unbelievably bad luck in exams, so I hope they don't blame themselves too much and do their best for another year.

303. Proportional to the size of my earrings and my resolve, the morning I return to work from being a mother to a person.

It is perfect. There is nothing to add. I only hope for a society where one can head to work without needing to wear earrings.

330. Youth and the passing seasons strike my cheeks, and a nosebleed overflows through the gaps in my fingers.

First, the upper phrase. A storm of empathy. It pierces straight through the fact that we are always being wounded by our happy pasts. Furthermore, the lower phrase. A storm of empathy. That experience of finally noticing a scrape on your knee after taking off your pants, and only then feeling the pain because you noticed it. You realize the shock you received only after seeing the blood on your finger when you casually wiped your nose. Above all, you cannot hide your surprise that you were hurt. There is the figure of someone living in the modern age, where one must become so insensitive that they cannot even recognize the pain their own body is emitting, yet they are still living.

378. My hair has grown long like that person I admire, and it gets in the way of reading 'Salad Anniversary'.

The realization that 'Salad Anniversary' is a short-cut poetry collection is nothing but convincing. Thank you. If I ever have the chance to share my thoughts on 'Salad Anniversary' in the future, I might just steal that from you!?

In closing

To the organizers, thank you once again for such a wonderful project.